


Why Mr DeGroot stays on the Walrus, or what can be learnt from doctors

by AuteurOnirique



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Mr DeGroot centric, Silver wonders why Mr DeGroot stays on the Walrus when his talents are underappreciated, he's about to find out, references to Silver's leg misadventure, some mentions of Flint, told from Silver's point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuteurOnirique/pseuds/AuteurOnirique
Summary: This is my humble fill for the Black Sails kinkmeme. Anonymous asked: “Basically DeGroot must be an angel to put up with Flint. Sometimes it seems like a miracle he doesn't just quit. So why exactly is he staying on?” And I did my best to deliver!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so here's me with this small answer to [this prompt](https://blacksails-kink.dreamwidth.org/2583.html?thread=3863#cmt3863)
> 
> This is very soft and hopefully, not too OOC, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

Some men on the Walrus crew are known drunkards. Some are known to be lazy. Some are known to never shut up. Some are known to never open their mouth. 

Mr DeGroot is known to be grumpy. 

The man woke up frowning and went to his hammock frowning. He was frowning as he was eating, drinking, and giving orders. 

He wasn’t really like the Captain though. 

Mr DeGroot was somewhat approachable. If someone wanted to know anything about sailing, he would explain with minor grumbling, no matter how clumsily-phrased the question was, no matter how green the person asking was. Mr DeGroot was always clear and precise and he never held information back because he thought you were too stupid to understand it, which should have made him a highly sought-after teacher. Would have made him a highly-sought after teacher in the Navy or any fancy school for naval officers. 

However, let it not be said that Mr DeGroot was… kind. He had very little patience for laziness and lateness. He hated drinking, and anyone who thought they could persuade him to do so. In fact, he seemed to hate every single way to have fun. Most of all, he hated people who thought a little too highly of themselves. He had the habit of smacking new recruits on the back of the head if they ever bragged about something when he knew it wasn’t true. You couldn’t say anything about how good you were at something without having him bringing it up again if you failed to prove it. 

Which was why Silver had a very.. strained… relationship with Mr DeGroot. Silver had successfully seduced the entire crew into thinking he was one of them, but it seemed that Mr DeGroot knew how to hold a grudge. That, or being grumpy was his natural state, which wouldn’t be so surprising considering that the other sailing specialist on board was also a grump.

Silver, however, was determined to learn more about Mr DeGroot. On the one hand, it was crucial to know about all the members of the crew he wanted to lodge himself in, on the other hand, he needed a break from trying to discover anything about the other most impenetrable member of the crew. 

So Silver had asked: did Mr DeGroot have a woman in Nassau he needed to provide for? He didn’t. Did he visit the brothel? He didn’t. Did he have a lover on board? He didn’t. Where did he come from? Some sailors told him he was probably from a merchant ship and had been found half-starved to death, marooned on an island with the corpses of his captain and some loyal members of a crew, but no one wanted to suffer one of withering stares so no one had asked about his previous life. 

Even though this story was nowhere near enough clearing up Mr DeGroot’s mystery, it at least explained why he was still on the ship. This was, to Silver, one of the biggest questions concerning the crew that eluded him: why was Mr DeGroot still here to give advice that was mostly ignored by the captain, and had to suffer in silence as Flint cut down the careening time, chose difficult spots to drop anchor, hurled them in storms, and charted courses that defied any concept of reason. 

And yet, catastrophe after catastrophe, Mr DeGroot was still here. He had even seemed to accept that Flint would remain the captain of the Walrus and that Silver was to be the quartermaster. He had even understood the depths of Silver’s ignorance concerning sailing and made sure to explain every single detail at length in a most patient manner. Truly, Silver would have never expected someone who had pointed a gun at him and been ready to throw him overboard not so long ago to be that patient with him. But then again, progress could be accomplished in the most unexpected ways with grumpy sailing masters, as Silver had discovered. 

With the misadventure of having his leg cut in several places by a madman and removed entirely by Dr Howell, Silver had forgotten about Mr DeGroot. However, he found himself stumble across an answer sooner than he had expected. (He fully expected to stumble, the prosthetic being new and difficult to navigate with on a moving ship, but the answer had been quite a surprise) 

To be entirely honest, Silver knew he had given Dr Howell a hard time: refusing to take any opium that might have made him seat still for two minutes so that he could examine his leg, not cleaning it often enough so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, always asking for his prosthetic before the wound was fully healed so that he could move around, and being overall an awful patient, always ready to swear at the poor doctor when things didn’t go his way. 

So when Silver had spotted Dr Howell on the poop deck on one of his highly-not-recommanded-six-bells-walk, he had immediately stood back where he could be hidden, hoping that the doctor would be gone bellow deck soon for some well-deserved rest, instead of seeing that his patient had escaped the captain’s cabin against his most formal orders. 

That was when he saw Mr DeGroot approaching with a bowl of what looked like chowder. The sailing master stood next to the doctor who was downing a cup, probably full of rum and shook his head: “Trouble with the quartermaster again?” 

Howell laughed a little and nodded, showing his cup as proof. DeGroot took it and shook his head: “Rum won’t help. Try food.” He put the bowl in his hands instead and Silver had the strangest impression that Mr DeGroot was being… shy… He barely met Howell’s eyes who were, Silver had noticed, quite nice actually. 

The doctor accepted the bowl and started eating while Mr DeGroot was looking out at the stars, eyes sometimes drifting to his crewmate with something that looked like… apprehension. 

“It’s very nice, actually.” Howell said, sounding surprised, “when did we acquire a competent cook?” 

Silver rolled his eyes at that. 

“We didn’t,” Mr DeGroot answered, tone still grumpy, but slightly less so, “I just added some spices to make it taste a little more like food.”

A… joke? Silver frowned at himself before frowning some more when he saw Howell laugh a little, looking at his feet in a very demure way which seemed most strange for someone who cut legs and removed bullets from chests and limbs or a nearly daily basis, and had given up having clothes that weren’t blood-stained. Mr DeGroot on the other hand, had half a smile on his face and was now looking directly at Howell, looking more relaxed than Silver had ever seen him. Ever. 

DeGroot patted Howell’s shoulder a little awkwardly, removing his hand nervously after the doctor looked up at him with a smile that Silver had never seen on the poor man’s face before: “He’ll be alright,” DeGroot comforted him, “You’re doing great: not many men would have survived having their leg cut off on a ship in such circumstances.” 

Howell smiled a little self-depreciatively at that: “I’m trying to read as much as I can on how to make it better, but most treaties always use a very compliant patient as a model.”

“Tell me about people who simply won’t listen.” Mr DeGroot chuckled. Dr Howell smiled too. He actually had a very bright smile. He propped his hip against the handrail, turning to DeGroot fully so that they were face to face. 

Silver hadn’t had so much excitement since he had lied to Flint about the Urca gold. 

“Thanks for the food. And the sympathy.” Howell asked and Silver could see he had trouble meeting DeGroot’s eyes, making him look almost shy. 

Mr DeGroot seemed to startle awake at that and nodded several times: “Right, of course, ’twas no trouble. Get some rest soon as well, alright?”

Howell looked a little taken aback at that and Silver wanted to groan in frustration. Mr DeGroot, obviously mistook Dr Howell’s words as a farewell instead of an invitation, as it had been intended to be. He patted Howell’s shoulder again with a tight smile before making his way below deck, leaving Howell all alone and looking quite disappointed. 

The following days, Silver made some efforts to be nicer to Dr Howel as he examined his leg and fussed over him in the most annoying way. And he didn’t have to wait for the results: two days later, Mr DeGroot had showed up in the captain’s cabin for a comprehensive lesson on coastal winds. 

Silver had smiled to himself. It seemed he now had an inkling on why Mr DeGroot stubbornly stayed on the Walrus.


End file.
